The Life and Loves of Maxine Caulfield
by filmFreak1
Summary: Max must learn how to go on living after her loss. This story will follow her and several other characters during the years following the Sacrifice Chloe ending. There is heavy subject matter such as grief and attempted suicide, but there are also happier and funnier moments as well. References Pricefield and is planned to eventually contain other pairings.
1. What Happened After

_Friday, October 11, 2013_

"Could I send some of these leftovers with you, Max? We've had so many people bringing us food these last few days." Joyce Madsen stands up from the table and proceeds to collect the three plates. "Max?"

Max looks up at Joyce. "I'm sorry. What did you ask me?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to take some food back with you to the dorm. It's not like David and I are ever going to finish it all."

"Oh...sure, I'd like that. Thank you."

Max is still wearing the black dress she wore to the cemetery earlier that day; Joyce invited her over for dinner with her and David after the funeral. She now looks over at David; he has retired to the couch after finishing his plate, having removed his jacket and tie, and now sips a beer while staring sadly at nothing in particular. He has hardly spoken a word the entire day.

Max turns to the kitchen where Joyce is now running water over the plates. "Joyce?"

"Yes, honey?" Joyce turns to her.

"Would it be alright if I went up to...to Chloe's room for a bit? Alone I mean."

Joyce smiles sadly. "Of course, dear. Take all the time you need."

A moment later, Max enters Chloe's room and closes the door behind her.

The room looks almost exactly the same as it did the last time she saw it, with the biggest difference being that the drawing board is no longer there.

 _Of course_ , she thinks. _It's still in the backyard. We never moved it up here in this timeline._

She walks over and lays down on the bed.

She recalls waking up next to Chloe the night after they snuck into Blackwell. Glancing over at the closet, Max remembers being surprised when Chloe dared her to kiss Chloe (and Chloe in turn being even more surprised when Max did it with no hesitation whatsoever).

 _Strange to think that was only two days ago,_ thinks Max. _It seems so much longer. But that was another life, wasn't it?_

As Max remembers all this, she realizes that that morning with Chloe may very well have been the happiest she had been in her entire life. This is too much for her; hugging Chloe's pillow tightly, she begins sobbing uncontrollably.

A while later (it seems like several hours, but is probably only several minutes), Max leaves Chloe's room and splashes water on her face in the bathroom. Then she returns to Chloe's room and shuts the door again.

She walks over to the bed and starts searching around on the floor. _Where was it? I remember Chloe having it somewhere around here._

Then she finds it.

A few minutes later, she walks downstairs holding Chloe's lock box. "Joyce?"

Joyce pokes her head out of the kitchen. "Yes, Max?"

Max holds up the lock box. "I found some of Chloe's CDs, and some more pictures. I was wondering if I could have them? Something to remember her by."

"Of course, dear." Joyce smiles. "I'm sure she would have wanted you to have them."

Max nods. "Thanks. Look, I need to get going and get back to the dorm. Thank you so much for dinner."

"Okay, I'll get my keys."

Max shakes her head. "No, that's okay, I'll take the bus. I know the stop isn't far from here."

"Don't be ridiculous, it'll be a lot shorter if you let me drop you off."

"I appreciate it, Joyce, but you should be here with David. Besides, I could use the extra time by myself."

Joyce nods. "Well alright then; just be careful. You stop by the Two Whales later this week, you hear? There's a free breakfast with your name on it." She hands Max a Tupperware container holding the leftovers she is sending back with Max.

Max smiles. "Thank you."

Max does not take the bus. Instead, she walks over to the beach, holding both the lock box and the Tupperware container under one arm. Looking around, she remembers the dead whales that had been everywhere in another timeline, and the walk (for her at least) she had taken with a paralyzed Chloe.

The beach is deserted; this is a perfect spot to do what she came here to do.

Sitting on the sand, she smoothes out her dress, then sets the lock box in front of her and opens it.

She had not been lying when she said she had Chloe's CDs and pictures in there; they are visible on top. She had been put them there in case Joyce had asked to see what was inside; of course, it would have been bad if Joyce had looked inside and given it more than a brief glance.

She removes the CDs and pictures, revealing the two other items. One is a small pouch. She picks it up and opens it, pouring several bullets into the lock box.

The other item is David's revolver, the one which Chloe had stolen and hidden in her room. She picks it up. Due to her lack of familiarity with firearms, it takes her a moment to figure out how to open the cylinder; she is careful to keep her finger off the trigger. Then she picks up each bullet and loads the chambers one at a time. She should hopefully only need one.

She initially points the barrel at her right temple, but her hand is shaking badly, and she decides to put it in her mouth instead. She has to fight the urge to remove it after encountering the metallic taste. She places her right thumb on the hammer and pulls it back. She begins to move her finger toward the trigger.

"You mind going somewhere else to kill yourself, kid?"

Max yelps at the unexpected interruption. Pulling the gun out of her mouth, she jumps up and turns around.

She is shocked to see who it is. "Frank?!"

Frank looks puzzled. "Do I know you?" A look of realization appears on his face. "Wait, I remember you...you were at Chloe Price's funeral earlier today, weren't you?"

"You were there?"

"I was watching from a distance. I figured her parents wouldn't want a guy like me there."

"Oh," replies Max.

"Now, back to what I asked you before. If you're going to kill yourself, could you do it someplace else? Or come back later when I don't have my RV parked here? I don't want the police to come around asking me questions if they know I was in the same location at the same time. I've already had a rough week as it is."

Max is rather bewildered by this strange conversation. "Um, sure. I can do that." She turns and begins to walk off.

Frank watches her for a second, then sighs. "Wait." Max turns and looks back at him.

"What's your name, kid?"

"It's Max. Short for Maxine."

"Why are you wanting to kill yourself, Max? Is it something to do with Chloe?"

Max nods slowly. "I watched her die."

Frank is surprised. "I remember the paper said there was another student in the bathroom, hiding behind the stalls. That was you?"

Max nods.

"Jesus, kid. That's rough. I'm sorry you had to go through that." Frank's tone is surprisingly sympathetic.

"Thank you," replies Max quietly.

"Any idea why she was there to begin with? I know she wasn't going to Blackwell anymore."

Max looks up at him. "She was trying to blackmail Nathan Prescott. She need money to repay a large large amount she had borrowed from someone."

Frank looks crestfallen for a moment when he hears this. Then he looks at the gun that's still in her right hand. "You mind handing me the piece for a minute, Max? I'm a little uncomfortable standing here when the hammer's still cocked."

Max grasps the revolver by the barrel so that it's pointing down and hands it to Frank; she remembers that this, ironically, is the same gun with which she had attempted to shoot Frank in the junkyard three days ago in the previous timeline (it was also the same one Chloe had killed Frank and his dog with as well, but Max had rewound and fixed it so that that Frank became their friend instead).

Taking the revolver, Frank points it to the ground. Holding the hammer with his thumb, he pulls the trigger and slowly lets the hammer ease back into its resting position. Then he holds it out to her.

Instead of taking the gun, Max looks at it for a moment, then up at Frank. "You do it."

"What?"

"Kill me. Please."

Frank's voice betrays the beginnings of anger. "What the hell makes you think I would do that, kid?"

"I killed Chloe." Max's voice is starting to shake now, and tears begin to form in her eyes. She glances to one side to avoid eye contact with him. "And I deserve to die for it."

"Funny, I remember the papers saying it was that Prescott shit who did it." He gets a sad look on his face. "They're saying he may have also killed Rachel Amber as well."

"I didn't pull the trigger on Chloe myself, but I could have stopped it."

Frank's voice now softens a little. "You don't know that, Max. For all you know, he would have just killed you and then killed her anyway."

"Trust me, I know I could have stopped it." A pause. "I can pay you."

"What?"

"I know of an ATM close by. I'll take out everything in my account and pay you. It's a few hundred dollars." She looks at him again, tears now streaming down her face. "I know she was your friend too, Frank, even if things did go a little south toward the end."

"Jesus, kid. You really want to die that badly?"

"Please, Frank." Max is starting to sob. "It would be justice for her and mercy for me."

Frank nods and tucks the gun in the back of his pants. "Okay. But I don't want your money. I'm doing it for free." He gestures further down the beach. "Let's go over here, near my RV. It'll be more quiet."

After they finish walking there, Frank tells her, "Okay, now turn around and look out toward the water." Max does so. He pulls the revolver back out; she hears him open the cylinder, no doubt to check that the bullets are in there, then hears him close it again.

He points the revolver to the back of her head. She hears him pull back the hammer.

"Last chance, kid. You still want this?"

Max nods. She is now trembling.

"Okay. On the count of three. One...two...three!"

Click.

Max lets out a noise that is a cross between a shriek and a gasp, then begins sobbing uncontrollably. She slowly turns around.

"You don't really want to die, do you?" Frank's voice is quieter than usual now.

"N-n-no!" she stammers, still sobbing.

Frank nods. "I kinda figured that might be the case when you decided to hand the gun to me instead of doing the job yourself. Even if you didn't know it yourself at the time." He opens the cylinder again and shows it to Max, revealing that all six chambers are empty. He reaches into jacket pocket and pulls out the bullets, dropping them in the sand.

"Go home, Max." Frank hands the gun back to Max. "Get some rest. And then get some help."

Max looks at him for a moment before turning and walking away. On her way back, she picks up the lock box and Tupperware container from where she left them. She considers taking the bus back to the dorm, but looks off in the distance and gets an idea.

A short while later, she is up at the lighthouse again. She sits on the bench—the same one where she had first told Chloe about her ability. It is so peaceful here; it seems so strange now to think that only a few hours ago she was here watching Arcadia Bay get destroyed by a tornado in the worst storm she had ever seen.

She looks at the spot where, moments before she had to watch Chloe die for the final time, they had shared one final, beautiful, tragic kiss. She will never forget the feel of those lips on hers.

Opening the Tupperware container, she slowly begins to eat the leftovers while watching the sunset. After she is finished, she sets the container to one side and opens the lock box. Taking out the revolver, she stands up and walks over to the edge of the cliff. She throws the revolver as hard as she can. She barely hears the splash as it hits the water down below. Then, turning around, she picks up the lock box and the now-empty Tupperware container and starts walking back to town.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will continue to read this story. My plan for this story is that, rather than having an overarching narrative, it will be told as a series of scenes (episodes or vignettes might be a more accurate term) depicting the life of Max and how she and the people in her life continue to affect each other's lives over a period of years following the events of the game. Some stories will be happy, some will be sad. Overall, I plan to show how life often takes unexpected turns.

In the next chapter, I plan to feature more of the Blackwell student characters, including Kate, Victoria, and others, and also to show Max starting to move on. For the record, I am personally more a fan of the Sacrifice Arcadia Bay option, but I chose to go with the other one for the story as I believe it works better for what I'm trying to do. My personal interpretation of the game is that Max is bisexual, and I plan to portray her as such throughout the story.

Please leave feedback and let me know what you think of this chapter and of my plan for the fic. Thanks!


	2. A New Face Among the Faculty

_Monday, October 14, 2013_

"We once again would like to remind you that, in light of the events and revelations from a week ago, we have brought in two licensed, professional counselors who are available at any time, should you feel the need to talk things over," says Principal Raymond Wells, gesturing to two people on his right, a younger man and a middle-aged woman, both nodding.

The students and faculty and staff of Blackwell all stand outside in the courtyard in the early hours of the morning. A podium (behind which Wells now stands) with a microphone and speakers has been set up. The faculty and staff—including Ms. Grant, Samuel, David, school nurse Barenchi, and English and Literature teacher Ms. Hoida (who has finally returned to work this week after taking a brief leave of absence)—all stand near Wells as he speaks. Max is as surprised as everyone else to see David back this week, only one week after losing his stepdaughter. Knowing David, though, Max would not be surprised if he insisted on coming back; everyone deals with loss differently.

Among the staff is a new person, a woman whom none of the students have ever seen before today, standing to Principal Wells' left. She wears a white long sleeve button-up shirt tucked into a khaki skirt which stops just below her knee, with matching black shoes (flats, not heels) and belt. She has long dark hair which goes down past her shoulder blades; she wears two braids (one originating from each temple) that are tied together behind her head to hold back the rest of her hair. She has a dark complexion; Max guesses that she may be of Latino descent.

Perhaps the most noticeable thing about the new woman, however, is her height. She is remarkably tall for a woman, easily over six feet. She has a lean and athletic body build (which her shirt and skirt reveal nicely while still being modest), and while some women (self-conscious ones, anyway) of that height would try hunching or kneeling slightly to make themselves look shorter, this woman instead owns her height, standing up straight as an arrow. Max does not think she has ever seen a more confident looking woman in her life.

The second thing Max notices most about the new woman is her face. Many would say that she is beautiful, and they would not be wrong, but Max believes it would probably be more accurate to say that she is handsome. She has a very ageless look to her; Max's best guess is that she is somewhere between thirty and fifty years of age. She wears cat-eye glasses with a thick black frame, and has a small beauty mark just above the right corner of her mouth.

Wells continues. "Don't forget that we are collecting money for the Chloe Price Memorial and Scholarship funds." He now turns to his left and gestures to the new woman. "I would now like to introduce to you the newest member of our faculty; she will be taking over the photography class for the remainder of the year. Please join me in welcoming Dr. Elena Garcia."

Applause. Several of the boys are noticeably louder, whistling as they clap, leaving no doubt as to how they feel about the new teacher. Garcia smiles and bows politely.

 _Elena Garcia, Elena Garcia, where have I heard that name before?_ Max can't quite place it. Then she remembers. While she has never seen a picture of Dr. Garcia before, Max recalls a book of photography back in her dorm room featuring several pieces of her work. She isn't as famous as many of her colleagues, but she certainly has a very respectable body of work.

"Dude, I'd like to have some 'private lessons' with her," Logan Robertson whispers rather loudly to Zachary Riggins nearby, snickering.

Zach responds with a sour look and slow shake of his head. _Time and place, dude,_ Max imagines him thinking. Logan's idiotic grin immediately crumbles, and he doesn't say another word. Max has noticed that Zach seems a lot more serious than usual (admittedly not saying a lot) over the past week. She wonders if Chloe's death and/or Nathan and Jefferson's arrests have affected him more than people would think.

Wells finishes his speech. "I want to thank you all once again for coming out here this early in the morning. I will let you get to your first period classes now. Dismissed."

Max is pleased to see several students walk up to David Madsen and shake his hand. They are normally too intimidated by him to even approach him, but today they don't let that get in the way of showing a small amount of sympathy.

* * *

The first place Principal Wells heads back to after the meeting outside is his office. Closing the door behind him, he goes behinds his desk and opens his cabinet. Taking out his favorite bottle of Scotch and a tumbler, he pours himself the second drink he has had that day. The last week has made him partake in the vice even more than usual.

He has just started sipping from the tumbler when he suddenly hears the door open behind him. Startled, he spits up the Scotch, and it drips down the front of his shirt and tie. Turning around, he sees David Madsen standing there.

"Jesus, David, don't you ever knock?! I could have been doing anything in here!" The still-mostly-full tumbler makes a rather loud sound as Wells sets it roughly on his desk, causing some of the Scotch to splash out.

"By anything, you mean drinking early in the morning?" David's voice is neutral.

Wells looks down at the bottle and the tumbler, then back at David. "Okay. You caught me. What are you going to do, tell on me?"

"Oh, you can't be that stupid, Ray. People already know, even if they won't admit it. But they won't be hearing it from me if you let me have some. Just one glass to get through today."

Wells looks at him for a moment, then nods. "Fine." He holds up his left index finger. "One glass. But you can't take it out of this room, and you sure as hell can't tell anyone about it."

He gestures to the chair in front of his desk. As David sits down, Wells takes out a second tumbler and starts to pour.

* * *

Max sits by herself on a bench just outside the dormitory, eating a sandwich she bought in the school cafeteria. She has just finished math class, and is now on her lunch break. She has not paid much attention in her classes so far today; she does not feel much like learning about Plato and Aristotle or sines and cosines and derivatives that day.

"Hey, Max. Mind if I sit here?" Max looks up to see Kate Marsh. Max was planning to eat alone, but seeing Kate does lift her spirits a little. She smiles, still chewing, and nods.

Kate takes a seat next to Max. "Just wanted to check on you. See how you're doing."

Max swallows. "I'll be honest with you, Kate. It feels a bit at times like I'm in a nightmare and I can't wake up." Max regrets the choice of words as soon as she says them, remembering that she had heard Kate use those same words moments before seeing her jump to her death. Max decides never to tell her about her own suicide attempt from last Friday.

Kate nods. "She was your best friend. You said it had been a while since you had last seen her, right?"

"Yeah," replies Max. "Five years. It...feels like it was a lot more recent than that though." If Kate finds those words strange, she gives no indication. "But enough about me. How about you? I know you had a bad week as well."

Kate looks off in the distance. "The police showed me the photos Nathan and Jefferson took of me. I wish I hadn't seen them. As if the video from the Vortex Club party wasn't bad enough. I felt so...so...violated!" She starts to get choked up. "I knew something was wrong with Nathan even before, but Jefferson...I...I trusted him!"

"I'm so sorry, Kate. He had us all fooled."

Kate wipes her eyes. "I guess at least one positive came out of all this. No one is talking about that stupid video of me anymore; Victoria took it down as soon as the news came out about what Nathan and Jefferson were doing. I just wish it hadn't come at such a high cost." She looks at her phone. "We probably need to get ready to go to our next class."

Standing up, Max looks up at the dorm, and remembers last week when she witnessed Kate jump off the roof, even after Max had tried so desperately to stop her and failed. She remembers looking down from the top of the roof and seeing Kate's broken body laying on the pavement, head twisted at an unnatural angle, a pool of blood starting to form underneath. All while other students were callously still filming the entire thing on their phones.

"Kate?"

Kate turns to look at Max. "Yes, M-" She is interrupted when Max suddenly steps forward and hugs her in a tight embrace. After getting over her initial surprise, she returns the embrace.

Max whispers in Kate's ear. "You are the best friend anyone could ask for. You mean so much to me, and I want you to know that I plan to be here for you no matter what."

Kate's voice is trembling now. She struggles to find the right words to say. "Thank you, Max...I'm here for you too. Are you up for another tea session this week?"

Max smiles. "Totally."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I originally intended for this chapter to progress a little further in the timeline, but the scene with Kate literally came out of nowhere in my mind, and I just had to write it out. I decided to leave some of the later events for the next chapter and let this chapter end on a slightly upbeat point compared to the first chapter.

Next chapter will feature Victoria, and will go into a lot more detail regarding the new photography teacher.

Thanks again, and please leave reviews, whether they be praise or constructive criticism.


	3. Same Class, New Teacher

"Good afternoon, everyone. As you learned this morning, I am Dr. Elena Garcia. I expect to be addressed as Dr. Garcia or Professor Garcia. If you find either of these too formal for your personal tastes, too bad."

The tall woman stands up and begins walking around the classroom, still maintaining her impressive posture and towering over the sitting students.

"I am a tenured professor at Western American Institute of the Fine Arts—WAIFA, for short." She pronounces it "way-fuh". "I have taken photographs that hang in museums even now, I have published books, and I have written articles for art magazines. I was actually taking this semester off from the university to research and write another book, when I received an unexpected call last week asking if I could fill a recently vacated position for a photography teacher at this fine establishment of yours."

She pauses for a moment. When she is met with silence, she smiles and continues. "I will be here for the remainder of the year, after which it is my plan to return to my previous position at WAIFA. In the meantime, it is my hope that you learn many things from me, and that I, in turn, learn many things from you."

Garcia's voice is deep, but feminine, soothing, and expressive. It reminds Max, who watched the new series Orange Is the New Black during the summer (her mother especially loves the show), a little of actress Laura Prepon's voice. Max thinks that if Dr. Garcia ever found herself in need of another job, she could make good money reading for audiobooks.

Walking over to her desk, Garcia picks up a sheet of paper and returns to the center of the room. "I would now like to learn all your names. Please raise your hand when I call yours." She goes in alphabetical order, starting with Alyssa Anderson. Max is second on the list.

"Victoria Chase." Victoria raises her hand as expected, but Garcia pauses for a moment and looks at her. "Your parents run the Chase Space gallery, right?" Victoria nods, surprised.

"I had the privilege of visiting there last year; your parents personally gave me the tour. Very impressive."

Victoria beams. "Thank you, Dr. Garcia."

Max has to suppress a groan. _Great. Guess we know who the good doctor's favorite is going to be. Nothing like watching Victoria suck up to yet another photography teacher. Hopefully this one at least won't turn out to be a psychopath._

The professor continues on to Taylor Christensen, Daniel DaCosta, Stella Hill, Hayden Jones, and finally Kate Marsh without further interruption.

Afterwards, Garcia walks back to her desk, turning her back to the students in doing so. Max realizes that the professor sways her hips quite a bit while walking; she has to admit that the khaki skirt shows Garcia's figure quite nicely. She also realizes that the professor's height puts her hips and everything between them nearly at sitting eye level.

After a moment, Max realizes to her horror that she has been staring at Garcia's rather well rounded backside far longer than she should have and immediately averts her eyes _(Bad Max! Shame! s_ he thinks) _,_ hoping no one caught her staring. She looks to her left to see if Victoria caught her. It turns out Victoria, in fact, did not catch her, because, as far as Max can tell, Victoria herself is too busy staring at the same thing.

 _Whoa, is Victoria checking out the new teacher?_ Max wonders. _No way, she probably just happens to be looking in that general direction._

Victoria seems to sense Max's gaze and turns toward her. Immediately, her eyes grow wide and she blushes.

 _Holy shit, she totally was!_ Max would find this amusing if it weren't for the fact that she feels herself blushing as well. They quickly break eye contact and look down at their respective tables in shame.

Setting the list back on the desk, Garcia now picks up a marker and turns back to the class.

"Tell me, what are some words that come to mind when you think of the events of the past week?"

Everyone looks at each other. No one responds.

Garcia gestures for a response. "Come on, humor me, people. One word per person, that's all I need."

Hayden speaks first. "Insanity." Garcia turns and writes the word on the board.

Stella is next. "Anger."

Alyssa: "Hatred."

Kate: "Violated."

Victoria: "Sorrow."

Taylor: "Grief."

Daniel: "Death."

Max is the last to speak as she continues to stare at her desk: "Loss." Victoria glances over at her.

Garcia turns back to the class after writing the last of the eight words. "It is themes such as these that often produce the best works of fine art. Painting and sculpture. Literature. Films. Music. Even comedy. For example, how many of you have read any of Mark Twain's work?"

Every hand goes up.

Garcia smiles. "He was one of the most brilliant writers and humorists of his time. If you ever read some of his quotes about contemporary issues of his time, you will often find him to be biting and hilarious at the same time. And often still relevant to modern times."

She walks around again as she continues. "He also once said that there is no humor in heaven, because the source of humor is not joy but sadness. And he was no stranger to sadness. He ended up outliving his parents, all of his brothers and sisters, his wife, his son, and two of his daughters."

She faces the class once again. "I say all of this to lead to the next order of business: the project I am assigning you." This elicits several audible groans from the class. She holds up her hands to quiet them down. "I know this isn't what you want, and I realize that doing this on my first day here won't win me your praise and love, but they hired me to do a job. Not just to teach, but also to make you stretch yourself and find that creative spark within yourself, to be able to express.

"Your project is this: Think of a time when you suffered. The loss of a loved one, or of a pet. Being the victim of a crime. A betrayal. An injury. Depression or anxiety. Then, create an art piece based on it. There are a few requirements regarding how the art piece itself should be put together. I suggest you take notes.

"The first requirement is that it has to involve at least one photograph. This is a photography class, after all. However, you are welcome to mix it with other art forms in some way, including drawings, paintings, or other photographs. You can even digitally manipulate it via methods such as applying filters or using Photoshop, but be sure to provide a copy of the original.

"The second requirement is that is has to be something that can be framed and placed on a wall. No videos or sculptures. Sorry.

"The final requirement is that the work has to be all yours; no using others' efforts, not even online stock photos, whether you have the proper permissions or not. You are allowed to request guidance or assistance from other students, such as to model for you or snap the photo for you, and you can use tools, including computer software, but the overall planning and execution has to be all yours.

"Along with the art piece, you will submit an essay about the event that your art piece is based on. The essay does not have to go into graphic detail or name names, but it does need to explain how the suffering caused by the event is expressed in the art piece.

She looks around at the eight faces one more time. "This will be due at the end of the semester. I suggest you start thinking about it now and not wait until the last minute. Good luck, and don't forget to read the next chapter of the textbook; we will be starting the unit on the first uses of motion picture cameras. Class dismissed."

* * *

"I was really liking the new photography teacher up until she assigned the project." Victoria sighs.

"At least she seems to already like you." Taylor does an imitation of a deep voice. "'I'm Dr. Garcia, I'm a fancy professor at a fancy college, and I'm here to make you find that creative spark within yourself!'" She giggles. "Did you catch the way Max was looking at her?"

Victoria decides to play dumb. "No. What about it?"

Taylor grins in a rather evil fashion. "She was practically drooling over her; I think someone's hot for teacher! Look on the bright side...with how tall Dr. Garcia is, Max wouldn't have to kneel much to do her any 'favors'." To illustrate what she means, Taylor forms a V sign with her index and middle fingers, places it so that one finger is on either side of her mouth, and flicks her tongue across it.

Victoria can't help herself and bursts into laughter. "Oh, god, that's gross! You're horrible, Sweet T!" She laughs for most of a minute, having to wipe tears from her eyes, as Taylor's grin widens.

Victoria sits on her bed, while Taylor leans against the wall. On the other side of the Victoria's room, Courtney silently sits in a chair with an open three-ring binder in her lap, scribbling notes down on notebook paper. She is making an outline for Victoria's next essay for English class. Neither of the two blonde girls have noticed that she is quieter than usual and has not laughed once.

After the laughter dies down, Taylor changes the subject. "Has there been any more discussion of the what Vortex Club is going to do?"

"Vortex Club needs to lay low on the partying for a while, at least until this whole thing with the Prescotts blows over," replies Victoria. "Stick to the fundraising and charity stuff for now; hopefully it will be enough that the school will decide not to shut the club down."

Courtney speaks for the first time, not looking up from her notes. "Maybe it should be shut down." Victoria and Taylor look at each other, then at her.

Victoria narrows her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Courtney closes the binder and looks up, making eye contact. "I mean, Victoria, that the Vortex Club should be shut down. Is that hard for you to understand?"

Victoria can not believe what she is hearing. "I don't like your tone, Courtney. And yes, that is hard for me to understand; you're like the club's biggest fan. We even let you decide who gets to attend the parties!"

"Where is this coming from, Courtney?" Taylor displays an equal amount of disbelief. "Is it because of what happened with Nathan and Jefferson? Because we are totally trying to help with that. In case you forgot, it was the VC who came up with the idea for the Chloe Price Memorial and Scholarship funds. And we're also planning to put up anti-bullying posters."

"And that just makes everything okay, doesn't it?" Courtney's voice is still quiet, but is now starting to show traces of anger. "We get to act like the big heroes for helping clean up the mess, and never have to take responsibility for making that mess in the first place."

"We are _not_ responsible for what Nathan did!" says Victoria. "We didn't make him bring a loaded gun to school, and we certainly did not make him kill Chloe!" Her voice briefly grows quieter. "Or Rachel."

Courtney shakes her head. "I seriously don't understand how the two of you can be sitting here laughing like everything's okay with everything that has happened in the last week; at least two people are dead, and another two are headed to prison! And let's face it, we all knew that something was seriously off about Nathan, even before he got really bad right around the time of Rachel's disappearance. But no, we were all perfectly fine to look the other way, so long as Papa Prescott kept paying for our precious parties. So yes, we are at least partially responsible. And you made things worse."

"Excuse me?" Victoria is visibly shocked at Courtney's behavior; the brunette has never once stood up to her before now.

"Kate Marsh was already humiliated enough thanks to what Nathan put in her drink, and instead of helping her, you chose to film her and put the video online, and then you let her be alone with him!"

"As I seem to remember, Courtney, you were watching the video and laughing about it same as everyone else!" Victoria seems to no longer care if anyone else on the floor hears her.

Courtney purses her lips. "You're right. I did." She sighs. "I've realized something the past few days...we're all shitty people. I thought about that fact, and I realized something else...I didn't become the shitty person I am now until I started hanging out with the Vortex Club." She points at Victoria. "Especially you."

Victoria scoffs. "You know what, Courtney? If you don't like hanging out with us, you are more than welcome to leave!"

Standing up calmly, Courtney looks at Victoria again. "You know what? I think I will." Opening the binder, she tears out the notes she wrote for the outline and flings them at the blonde. "And you can write your own stupid shitty papers from now on." She opens the door and steps out into the hallway.

Victoria jumps up and runs to the door, shouting after Courtney. "You'll be nothing without us, you hear me?! Nothing!"

Courtney does not look back or say anything, only extending her middle finger before heading to the section of the floor where her room is, through the double doors across the hall next to Max's room.

Looking both ways down the hall, Victoria sees that others—including Brooke on her left and Kate on her right—have heard the commotion and stuck their heads out of their rooms in curiosity. "What the fuck are you all looking at?!" They immediately disappear back into their rooms.

Slamming the door closed, Victoria walks back to her bed and sits down, trembling in anger.

After having been silent for several minutes, Taylor finally speaks. "Look, Courtney will come around, she just needs t—" She stops when she hears Victoria say something under her breath. "What's that, V?"

Victoria looks up at her with eyes that Taylor will later swear are red with rage. "Get. Out."

Taylor does not have to be told a third time.

It is not until she is sure Taylor is no longer within earshot that Victoria starts crying.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A brief teaser for next couple chapters - Max continues to struggle with her loss while trying to find an idea for her art project; more characters appear; Victoria begins behaving way differently.

Thanks again to all of you who have read my story so far; please continue to provide opinions and ideas!


	4. Lunch, Drinks, and Dreams

Max and Kate sit in the shade of a tree in the Blackwell courtyard. Having just bought lunch from the cafeteria (a sandwich for Max, a salad for Kate), they now take the food out and prepare to eat.

"Have you decided what you're doing for your photography project?" asks Kate.

Max shakes her head. "I haven't even decided what 'event' I'm going to base it on yet. I have a couple ideas, but I don't know how to represent them. You?"

Kate nods slowly. "I think I've decided on my event. You can probably guess what it is."

Max does not reply; she does not need to ask to know that it will likely be related to the trauma that Kate endured only weeks before.

Kate speaks again just as Max prepares to take the first bite of her sandwich. "Hey, Max, see Courtney over there?" She points to where the picnic tables are, near the path to the dormitory.

Max looks and sees that Courtney is sitting alone by herself, reading a book. "Yeah. What about her?"

"I've noticed she's been eating by herself a lot lately the past couple weeks, ever since she and Victoria had that falling out."

Max nods. She was not there at the time, but she had heard about it from others later on. Apparently the whole argument had gotten loud enough that it could be heard all up and down the hall; Victoria had been screaming at Courtney.

"I'm still wondering what she said or did to make Victoria so angry," says Kate.

Max scoffs. "Trust me, pissing off Victoria is not a hard thing to do; I think I did that just by existing around her."

Kate looks at Courtney a little longer before turning back to Max. "We should go sit with her."

"Seriously?"

"Sure, why not? She looks like she could use a friend right now."

This is part of what Max loves about Kate, that she is always willing to reach a hand out to others whom she believes to be in need. She thinks back to her first week at Blackwell, when her dreams of a great school year had come crashing down hard. Kate had been the first one besides Warren to reach out to her; they had become friends quickly and started having their regular tea sessions.

Max looks thoughtfully over at Courtney. "Okay."

A moment later, they approach the picnic table.

"Hey, Courtney?" asks Kate timidly. Courtney looks up, startled.

She may no longer be with the Vortex Club, but Courtney has not let that affect her appearance. She still keeps her brunette hair styled the same; well brushed and parted on one side so that it drapes down either side of her face. She is wearing her nice black and white top with the usual necklace.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," says Kate. "We were just wondering if we could join you today."

After a pause, Courtney slowly nods. "Not like I own the table." Max and Kate sit down on the other side from her. A moment of silence follows.

Finally Courtney slowly starts speaking, avoiding eye contact as she does so. "I...want to apologize to both of you."

Max and Kate give each other puzzled looks then look back at her.

"For what?" asks Max.

"To you, for what Nathan did to your friend."

A pause. Then Max asks, "Did you do it?"

Courtney looks at her, saying nothing.

Max shrugs. "Then what are you sorry for?"

Courtney nods before speaking again, looking down at the picnic table. "And I'm truly sorry, Kate, for what happened at the Vortex Club party. There was no excuse for that. I didn't do it, but I didn't do anything to stop it either." She starts wiping her eyes. "I was such a coward, always wanting to please that bitch Vic—"

She is interrupted when she feels a hand on top of her own on the picnic table. She looks up and is surprised to see that the hand belongs to Kate, who now looks her in the eyes. Kate gives Courtney a brief smile and her hand a slight and equally brief squeeze before letting go.

"Thank you," says Courtney quietly. Kate smiles again and nods.

After yet another pause, Max decides that a change of subject is in order. "I really like your outfit, Courtney."

Courtney is initially surprised, probably more by the shift in topic than the new topic itself. "Thank you, Max!"

"You always seem to have a good sense of fashion. That's probably not much of a compliment coming from me; I'm not sure I even know what good fashion looks like. Mind if I ask your advice on that sometime?"

Courtney smiles. "Sure thing, Max. Tell you what, I'm planning to do some shopping in the next week or two; want to join me? Both of you I mean." She looks between the two girls sitting opposite from her.

Max and Kate look at each other again and nod before turning back to Courtney. "Sure," says Max.

A moment later, Kate gestures toward the middle of the courtyard. "What's been up with Victoria lately?"

Victoria Chase is currently sitting on the ledge of the fountain doing homework. She wears baggy sweatpants and a hoodie today. She obviously has not brushed her hair and currently sports a bad case of "bedhead"; she also wears no makeup.

Courtney shakes her head. "I'm not sure. All I know is, she and I had a falling out and she's been acting weird since then. She wouldn't have been caught dead in that outfit a few weeks ago, or with her hair like that. She won't hang out with Taylor or the Vortex Club anymore, and snaps at anyone who tries to ask her what's going on. She still does her schoolwork, even without my help, though."

Max nods. "I bumped into her the other day—literally bumped into her, I mean—and she screamed at me. I may have imagined it, but I noticed a smell. I could have sworn she had not bathed in the last few days."

Kate wrinkles her nose. "Is she trying to be repulsive or something?"

Courtney shrugs in response. The topic is discussed a short while longer.

Finally, Courtney looks at her phone. "Looks like class is about to start. Thanks for joining me today, it was fun. I'd like to hang out again soon."

* * *

"The usual Blue Moon, Mr. Madsen?" asks the bartender, a slim man of average height in his thirties sporting dark slicked-back hair and a well-trimmed goatee with a waxed mustache. He wears designer jeans and a flannel shirt; David, on the other hand, is still in his security guard uniform.

David nods. "Largest size you've got, Sam."

"Will you pay now or will you be opening a tab?"

David takes out his credit card and slaps it on the bar. "Tab." Nodding, the bartender picks up the card and walks away.

The place seems just a little too nice to be called a dive bar, but it doesn't really seem to fit in any other category for a bar either. Various posters, vinyl album covers, signs, and other memorabilia decorate the walls. The establishment is rather small, as are many bars that have been around as long as this one has.

Sam brings David his Blue Moon, with an orange slice placed on the rim of the glass. David picks up the orange slice and squeezes it into the beer before dropping the slice into it. As he starts to take the first sip, he senses another man in his peripheral vision, a larger one, sitting down at the bar a couple seats away from him.

Sam the bartender greets the new customer. "Mr. Wells!"

"Good evening, Sam." David immediately recognizes the voice.

"Been a while since we've seen you here, sir."

"It's been a rough few weeks, Sam. And please, call me Ray. I have to listen to people call me Principal Wells and Mr. Wells every day at work."

"Certainly, Ray. What can I get for you this evening?"

"You still carry Wild Turkey American Honey?"

"We do."

"I'll take that, straight up."

David briefly considers just finishing his drink and settling the tab. Instead, he turns to the large, African-American man who is still wearing his suit from work.

"Never thought I'd find you here."

Wells turns to David and shrugs. "It's quiet. Out of the way."

David turns back to his beer. "Yeah."

 _An hour and a half later_

David Madsen and Raymond Wells are now on their respective fourth drinks.

"And he has the nerve—the _nerve—_ to try to blame me?!" says Wells, far louder than when he first entered the bar. "I wanted to tell him so badly, 'Hey, asshole, you're one of the owners of the school, a lot of it was built with your dirty money—if you wanted security measures so badly before, all you had to do was say so'. But no, apparently it's my fault his piece of shit son decided to bring a loaded gun to school and murder that girl—oh shit, sorry, David."

David waves him off. "You're good. But I have to disagree with you one one thing, Ray—Sean Prescott is not an asshole."

"Why do you say that, David?"

" _You're_ an asshole, and _I'm_ an asshole. Calling him an asshole is an insult to all of us assholes."

Wells chuckles at that. "I will not disagree with anything you just said, David. I blame Jefferson more than anyone though."

"I always said to never trust any man with a goatee." David gestures to the bartender. "Except for Sam. Are you worried about losing your job?"

"My contract lasts through the end of the school year," replies Wells. "I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't get renewed. Honestly, I'm kind of hoping at this point that it doesn't. I just hope I don't have to carry the taint of the Prescott name with me wherever I apply next." He sighs. "It's seems hilarious in hindsight now to think of how badly I wanted this job when I first applied a few years ago. At the time, I was a principal at a public school in Chicago—the kind of neighborhood where you could hear gunshots every night. Getting the job at Blackwell was a dream come true for me and my family. Or so it seemed."

"You've got a family?" asks David.

"Married twice and divorced twice. My second wife left and moved back to Chicago a year and a half after moving here."

"Shit. Any kids?"

"One from each marriage. My son is in college. I talk to him on the phone sometimes, but I haven't seen him in a couple years; he reached high school and seemed to longer want to visit me. My daughter—my second wife and I adopted her from overseas several years ago—is fifteen. We're close; she stays with me during Christmas break and the summer. I've tried to avoid the mistakes with her that I made with my son."

David nods and gestures toward Wells' drink. "Did that have anything to do with how your marriages turned out?"

Wells shakes his head. "Not really, no. First marriage wasn't really my fault or hers; we married too young, just after graduating high school. Second one was my fault, but it had more to do with work than the drinking; the drinking got worse after she left. I've made a point of trying not to drink or be drunk around my daughter."

"I was married once before too," says David. "Just before I was deployed to Iraq. She cheated on me with my best friend back home while I was gone."

"Jesus, that's rough, David."

"Yeah."

Wells decides to shift the conversation back to an earlier topic. "If I had any clue what this job was going to be like, I think I just might have told Sean Prescott to take that job offer and stick it where the sun don't shine."

David snorts. "I would have paid a hundred bucks just to see how he reacted to that." He looks down at his beer again. "I've been thinking of quitting myself. It's hard to be at that school around that bathroom where—where she was."

Wells nods in sympathy.

David turns back to him. "You know what? Fuck the Prescotts!"

A pause. Then Wells nods again. "You know what? I agree. Fuck the Prescotts. And fuck Blackwell too!" He raises his glass. "Here's to the assholes of Arcadia Bay!"

The two men clink glasses together, finish their drinks, and set the glasses on the bar.

David gestures to the now-empty glasses. "Another round, Sam!"

* * *

Max is surprised to find herself in a comfortable bed—her twin bed at Blackwell doesn't exactly do her many favors—and knows immediately she is not in her dorm room. She raises herself up onto one elbow looks around.

From what she can tell, she is in a cheap motel room. Sunlight peaks in from under the blinds. Nearby, she sees clothes laid over a chair, as though they are drying out; she recognizes her gray hoodie. Looking down at herself, she peels back the covers and sees that she is in her pink t-shirt and white panties.

Sensing movement, she looks to her left.

She is shocked to find herself staring into the blue eyes of Chloe Elizabeth Price.

Chloe smiles. "Morning, Max."

Max sits up. "C-Chloe? How are you here? Where are we?"

Chloe sits up as well. "We're in the motel; we stopped here a couple hours after leaving Arcadia Bay, remember?"

Max shakes her head. "That can't be right. I kissed you, then I killed you—sacrificed you—and I went to your funeral. And then Frank stopped me from killing myself and I met the new photography teacher at Blackwell and—"

Chloe interrupts. "Whoa, slow down there, Mad Max, sounds like you had a nightmare."

Max thinks hard. And then she remembers. "I...sacrificed the town. I tore up the butterfly photo, and I saved you. And then we drove through town in your pickup to see the damage and left." She remembers seeing the destruction and the bodies, and also the deer wandering around. It seemed almost symbolic, nature getting its cruel revenge on civilization.

She looks at Chloe again. "Any news on survivors?"

Chloe is quiet for a moment before replying. "Looked it up on my phone. They're saying the death count is easily in the dozens, more than likely the hundreds. They haven't put together a list of names yet."

Max looks down. "Oh, god, what have I done?"

"Hey, hey." Chloe puts her hand on Max's back. "We talked about this. You did the best you could with what you had."

"But those people—your mother!" says Max. "I am so sorry, Chloe."

"We don't know that she's dead, Max."

"I think she would have called either of us by now, Chloe."

Chloe looks away in sadness. "Probably so. And that's something we'll have to live with." She turns back to Max. "But you made your choice, Max, and now there's no choice now but to move forward. If it makes you feel any better, you didn't do anything I didn't want you to do."

"But that butterfly photo—you gave it to me—"

Chloe shook her head. "I was letting you off the hook, Max. But I was really hoping you'd choose to save me instead. And you did." She puts her arm around Max. "The important thing now is that we have each other. And we always will."

Max chokes back tears. "Oh, Chloe!" She wraps her arms around the taller girl in a tight embrace. "I thought I had lost you." Chloe returns the embrace.

When the embrace is released, they rest their foreheads against each other for a moment. Then Max pulls back and looks at Chloe with a look of wonder. A moment of silence follows.

"Max? Why are you looking at me like th—" Chloe does not get to finish, as she is surprised to find Max's lips pressing against her own.

Chloe stares in shock when the kiss breaks and Max looks her in the eyes again. Then Chloe leans forward and returns the favor, this time using her tongue along Max's lower lip. This kiss lasts much longer.

Max pulls back the covers, revealing Chloe to be in her tank top and underwear, and shifts herself onto the taller girl's lap, wrapping her bare legs around her. The kissing immediately resumes, this time far more passionately; their tongues seem to have run off together and eloped.

"Oh, Chloe," Max moans as they separate and Chloe begins kissing her neck. "I love you. I'm in love with you." She senses something in front her, over Chloe's left shoulder, and opens her eyes.

She sees a glowing blue butterfly flying around the room.

Max has a sudden realization. Tears start to form in her eyes as she realizes what is going on.

Chloe stops kissing her neck and pulls back, looking her in the eyes. "Max?"

"Please, Chloe, please don't say it."

"Max...you know this is a dream, right?"

"No, please no!" She hugs Chloe to herself. "Please don't take this away from me, please! If it's a dream, then I don't want to ever wake up!"

"I'm so sorry, Max. You deserved better than this."

Max's vision is starting to go dark now. _Please no, just a few more minutes!_ Soon she can no longer see the room or Chloe.

* * *

When Max does wake up, she spends the next several minutes weeping. Then, looking at her phone, she realizes it's three in the morning. She tries to go back to sleep, but gives up after half an hour of tossing and turning. Getting out of bed, she sits down at her desk, and writes about the dream in her journal.

She reads over what she has written several times, thinking as she does so. Then she gets an idea. She writes it down so as not to forget it, then she takes out some blank sheets of paper and begins making sketches.

When she is finished, a smile forms on her face briefly before giving way to sadness.

She now knows what she will do for her photography project.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Teaser for upcoming chapters - Principal Wells finds himself in a weird situation; Max enlists Dana's help; at least one other character from the game makes their first appearance in the fic; Victoria's behavior grows increasingly worrisome.

Thanks once again to all who continue to read the story; please leave a review and let me know of your compliments or concerns.


	5. A Hangover and a Photoshoot

Principal Wells wakes up experiencing the worst hangover he has had in a long time (which, in his case, is saying quite a bit). He sits up a little too quickly and has to put his hand on his bald head in the hopes of soothing the throbbing headache he now experiences. He is also simultaneously experiencing great thirst and a full bladder.

Looking down, he sees that he is still wearing his slacks and shirt from yesterday. He looks around and finds himself sitting on an old sofa; a large flatscreen TV sits across from him on the other side of the coffee table on which his keys and phone are sitting. Turning to his left, he sees his jacket and tie draped over a blue chair on his left, with his shoes sitting next to one of the legs.

"Where am I?" he asks aloud.

"You're in my house. Now drink this water," replies a female voice, startling him. He looks behind him.

"Mrs. Price?!"

"It's Mrs. Madsen now, Mr. Wells." Joyce hands him a glass of water. She is already dressed in her waitress's uniform.

"Oh. Right. I—I don't understand. What am I doing here?"

"Do you remember where you were last night?"

Wells sips the water as he thinks for a moment. "I...I was at the bar with David. We...probably had a few too many...everything after that is a blur. Oh god, please tell me I didn't drive."

"You didn't. Sam at the bar is a friend of mine. He called me up last night when he realized you and David were in a rather sorry state. I ended up picking both of you up and bringing you back here. You weren't exactly speaking coherently."

"Please accept my sincere apologies, Mrs. Pr—Mrs. Madsen."

Joyce shakes her head. "No worries. Just try not to do it too often. From what Sam told me, you two were having quite the conversation last night. I'm rather relieved David's opening up to someone—I just wish it didn't require so much drinking. I couldn't talk him into seeing a counselor after what happened to my daughter. I think he took it worse than I did; blames himself for not protecting her."

"I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Madsen."

Joyce smiles sadly. "Thank you, Mr. Wells."

Wells leans forward and sets the now-empty glass on the coffee table and picks up his phone. He realizes that he needs to get home soon so he can shower and change clothes for work.

It takes some effort for the large man to stand up. "Would you mind pointing me in the direction of your restroom?"

"Upstairs, end of the hallway on your left."

When he returns downstairs afterward, he speaks to Joyce again as she cooks in the kitchen. "Thank you for letting me stay here last night. I apologize for overstaying my welcome and I will be calling a cab shortly."

"Nonsense. David will be up shortly; I'll drop you both off at the bar to pick up your cars when I go to work." She points toward the dining table. "Sit yourself down. Don't you dare think I'm going to send either of you off without some breakfast to help you with those hangovers. There's coffee brewing on the counter if you want some. Now, would you like bacon and eggs, or pancakes?"

A long pause. Then Wells sighs. "Pancakes sound really good right about now."

* * *

Max approaches Dana and Trevor, who are holding hands on the bench in front of the dorm.

 _They really are such a cute couple_ , she thinks.

"Morning, Max!" Dana greets her cheerfully.

"Hi, Dana. Hi, Trevor." The skater waves in response with his free hand.

Max takes a breath. "Listen, Dana...you know about the art project the students in photography class are working on?"

Dana nods. "Heard about it. What's up?"

"I finally figured out what I want to do, and I was wondering...would you be willing to be my model? I was thinking I'd do it this evening."

Dana smiles. "Sure! Should I wear anything?"

Max raises an eyebrow at her. Trevor grins at this, having also caught Dana's error.

"Are you implying you'd be willing to wear nothing?" asks Max, now grinning as well.

Dana gets a confused look on her face before realizing what Max is talking about. "Oh!" She laughs. "I meant, should I wear anything _in particular_."

Max thinks for a moment. "Think of something you might see someone wearing when they're depressed. Like if something happened to Trevor here, and you couldn't bring yourself to leave your room. Something you might wear after having just woken up."

Dana and Trevor look at each other. Then Dana turns back to Max. "Umm...okay. I think I might have an idea of what you're looking for."

"Awesome. You know where the photography studio room is? Not the classroom, but the place where the photography students get to practice their work?"

"I think I know which one you're talking about."

"I reserved it for 4:30. It may take a couple of hours. Is that cool?"

Dana nods. "I'll meet you there!"

* * *

The studio room is very well designed. It is spacious, with high ceilings, and it also has windows, but they are currently blocked with blackout shades, which renders the room nearly pitch black when the lights are off. It has multiple lamps which can be moved and configured however the photographer needs, and a good backdrop as well as various props and furniture pieces.

Max is already moving lights into place when Dana arrives exactly at 4:30pm. The cheerleader wears her gray sleeping shorts, a slightly darker gray sweatshirt with a faded teddy bear on the front, and flip flops; in one hand she carries a gym bag. Max notices that she even made her hair look less kempt; it's in a ponytail as always, but small locks of hair of hang down by her face. While Max wouldn't say so out loud, she thinks Dana actually looks even more beautiful than in her normal clothes.

"Hey, Max." She sets the gym bag on the floor and kicks off her flip flops. "I brought more clothes in case these don't work."

Max looks Dana up and down and smiles. "I think that will be perfect."

The cheerleader smiles back. She glances over to a nearby table and sees a camera resting on it. "You're not using your Polaroid camera?"

Max shakes her head. "I checked this out from the school. I'm going digital today. I plan to do some editing work on the computer later. Photoshop, filters, that sort of thing." She points to the backdrop. "Just take a seat on the floor there, facing to the right."

As Dana does so, Max walks over and turns off the lights.

"Okay, that is really dark," says Dana.

A moment later, Max turns on the lamps and adjusts their brightness settings (taking Dana's clothing colors into account).

"So." Dana looks at Max. "You wanted me to act as though Trevor had died?"

"Too morbid?"

Dana smiles. "No. I think it will help me achieve that sadness you're wanting."

Max nods slowly. "Okay. For the first shot, try kneeling on the ground, face buried in your hands." Dana does as Max instructs. "Good." Walking over, she adjusts one of the lamps slightly for Dana's new position. "Hold that pose." She picks up the camera and starts snapping away, moving around to different angles as she does so.

Afterwards, Max has Dana try various different positions (adjusting the brightness and position of the lamps every time); kneeling, sitting, standing, looking up, looking down, covering and uncovering her face. Some shots even incorporate props, namely a table and a chair. All shots feature Dana looking sad, however, and she does a great job of it.

Finally, Max turns on the lights and says, "Okay, I think we have enough to work with for now. Let's take a look at these photos."

Sitting down at the table, they look at the shots on the screen on the back of the camera. After much discussion, they finally find one they like more than any of the others.

"I think this will work for what you're doing," says Dana, smiling.

"Yeah...I guess so." Max holds her hand over her mouth, as if deep in thought.

"You don't seem so sure, Max."

"Don't get me wrong, it's a great shot...something still seems off about it though."

Dana looks at it for a moment.

Then she smiles. "Max...I think I know what the problem might be. Let's recreate the shot real quick and see if we can't fix it. Let's put the camera on the tripod this time."

Max is skeptical, but decides it couldn't hurt to try.

The lights go off again. Dana gets back in the same position as their favorite photo, and Max adjusts the lamps again to recreate the effect. Then she places the camera on the tripod and adjusts the position and height so that the framing is the same as in the photo they had decided is their favorite so far.

"You got it?" asks Dana. "Same exact setup as before?"

"Yeah," replies Max. "So what is it that needs to be fixed?"

Dana gets up and walks over next to Max. "The problem is that it's me and not you."

"What are you talking about?" asks Max. "You're doing a great job!"

"You're not understanding me, Max. You don't need me as your model...you needed me as your stand-in."

"Wait...you're saying _I_ should be the one in the picture?!"

"Yep. You've got the lighting and framing set up, so you just need to imitate what I was doing."

"But...you know how to model. Better than I could ever hope to do. Not to mention you're far better looking."

"Thanks for the compliment, Max, but you're selling yourself way short. Just try it."

Max shakes her head. "I'd have to go back to the dorm for the right clothes. And I'm not sure I have anything that matches your colors."

Dana laughs. "Max, you're making this way more complicated than it has to be."

Max is shocked when Dana pulls off her sweater and drops her shorts, revealing a matching pink bra and panties. "Uh, Dana, what are you doing?"

Dana holds out the sweater and shorts to Max. "Put these on."

Max realizes what Dana is suggesting. After glancing at the door to make sure it's closed, she pulls off her own shirt and jeans (revealing, per usual, a mismatched set of underwear) and puts on Dana's sweater and shorts. The sweater is a little big—no big surprise, given that Dana is a couple inches taller and has a noticeably larger bust—but it works.

Dana reaches out and thoroughly tousles Max's hair with her hands. Soon, it decently resembles bedhead _._ Then Max walks over and sits down on the backdrop where Dana was before.

"Now for the hard part," says Dana.

Max nods slowly. She thinks of the childhood memories of Chloe. Of the final week they got to spend together. Of the final kiss they shared. Of how she had to listen to her best friend (and more) die one last time while she could do nothing but lean against the stall and cry. Of the dream she had the night before. Within moments, tears pour down her cheeks.

Dana is speechless for a moment. Then: "Jesus, Max. That's good; really good. I could never cry on cue like that. You should consider acting."

She compares Max's position to that of the photograph of herself they are now imitating. "Okay, move your left foot forward a little...raise your arm...not that much...okay, perfect! Hold that pose."

Tears have begun hitting the backdrop as Dana presses the button.

A moment later, Max gets up, wiping her eyes. Removing the sweater and shorts, she walks over to Dana to look at the photo.

"Wowsers." Max is amazed. "It's perfect. You were right, Dana." She wipes her eyes again. She turns to Dana. "Thank you so much."

They embrace in a hug.

Then the door to the studio opens.

A female voice: "Hey, Max, I heard you were in here, could I get my copy of _Memento_ back from you? Warren and I are watching a movie tonight, and it's my turn to pick."

The room lights go on, and Max and Dana, still embracing, turn to see Brooke Scott standing there.

Brooke's eyes grow wide momentarily. "Oh! On, uh, second thought, I'll pick a different movie. Maybe _Mulholland Drive._ Um, sorry for interrupting." She leaves the room rather quickly, shutting the door behind her.

Max and Dana break the hug and stare at the doorway where Brooke was just standing.

"What was up with her?" Max is puzzled. "She was acting rather weird."

"I think it might have to do with the fact that we're both still in our underwear," replies Dana.

"What?" Max looks down at herself in horror. "Oh my god!"

* * *

Trevor successfully completes a tre flip.

"Awesome, you managed not to hit yourself in the nuts this time!" Justin claps as Trevor gets off his skateboard and bows in exaggerated fashion.

"Hey, better than anything you could do, bitch!" They give each other a high five.

They are on the sidewalk in front of the school where they usually practice their skating; evening is approaching, so they will have to call it quits soon.

"Hey, Justin...I want to ask you something." Trevor seems a little worried about something.

"What's up, man?"

"Do you think there's such thing as too much of a good thing?"

"Um, sure. I've found out the hard way there's such thing as too much weed at a time."

"I'm being serious, Justin. My life seems to be going really good right now, and it worries me."

"You're so lame, Trevor. I wish I had your 'worries'."

"Yeah. You're probably right...but I just keep thinking that maybe I don't deserve it, and that the universe is going to be smacking me in the face with a big dose of karma soon."

"Is this about Dana?" asks Justin. "Because if she's causing that big of a concern, I can totally take her off your hands."

Trevor chuckles. "Don't even think about it, man."

"Hey, just letting you know the offer is out there!"

"I do worry, though." Trevor looks down. "I love her, and I think she loves me, too. I sometimes wonder why she picked me. She could have had any guy she wanted, and she picked me! I know it's stupid and paranoid and insecure, but I sometimes worry that she'll eventually find some other guy, you know, someone better."

A new voice enters the conversation. "Hey, Trevor."

Trevor looks up. "Yo, Brooke, how's it hangin'?"

"Couldn't help but overhear your conversation," says Brooke. "Trust me, I think Dana finding 'some other guy' might be the least of your concerns." She turns around and walks away, stifling a giggle.

Trevor watches Brooke walk away for a minute. "Uh...thanks? I guess?"

He turns to Justin. "What the fuck was that about?"

Justin replies with a confused shrug.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I decided this chapter needed a couple of lighter, funnier moments after how the last one ended. Hope you enjoyed it!

Teaser for upcoming chapters: Max continues to work on her photography project; Taylor asks for Max's help with Victoria; Thanksgiving.

I am debating a few possibilities regarding future pairings (especially ones involving Max). Let me know if you have any thoughts on this.

As always, please leave feedback and let me know what I am doing well, what I could be doing better, and so on. Thanks!


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